


That California Trip

by libertycas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Community: deancasbigbang, DCBB, DCBB 2014, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hitchhiking, Impala Sex, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Leaving Home, M/M, Musician Dean, Non-Penetrative Sex, Road Trips, Rutting, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Teenage Castiel/Teenage Dean Winchester, Underage Drinking, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libertycas/pseuds/libertycas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is little more than twenty-four hours from a potentially life-changing interview at a prestigious California university, and he's in trouble. Stranded in Texas after a string of unfortunate events, it looks like he'll need some kind of miracle to make it there on time. Enter Dean, an eighteen-year-old aspiring rock star, en route to Los Angeles in hope of landing a record deal. Surely it's just a crazy coincidence – right? Neither one believes in destiny, but the chemistry between them is undeniable, and Dean ends up with a hell of a lot more than he bargained for after offering Cas a ride. Together, they embark on a whirlwind journey of self-discovery; it's one that is dark at times, colourful at others, as the two learn a number of invaluable lessons about life and love along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That California Trip

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [**Fic masterpost**](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/175019.html) | **[Art masterpost](http://lula-bee.tumblr.com/post/99909028547/my-illustrations-for-this-years-deancas-big-bang)**  
> 
> 
>   
>  Beta'd by [ **feathersforcastiel** ](http://feathersforcastiel.tumblr.com) & [ **ruthlesscastiel** ](http://ruthlesscastiel.tumblr.com) — thank you guys, I really appreciate it. <3
> 
> I want to thank my wonderful artist **[lula-bee](http://lula-bee.tumblr.com)** for all of her hard work. She definitely helped to make this a really enjoyable project, the finished art is fantastic, and at the risk of sounding a little cheesy, I really do feel blessed to have been paired up with such a talented artist. I highly recommend that you all go follow her on tumblr right now. ;)
> 
> I created a little playlist for this fic, as writing inspiration, I guess. I put it on [**8tracks**](http://8tracks.com/libertycas/that-california-trip) if anyone's interested. It sort of corresponds with the story, and should certainly get you in the mood for this 'verse!

 

**I.** **Route 66**  


 

Castiel 

Cas squints against the glare of the early morning sun, pushing his glasses back up his nose with one finger as he studies Gabriel's pick-up in disbelief.

'Isn't she a beauty?' Gabriel announces proudly, slapping Cas on the back. It's hard enough to make Cas lose his balance, and he stumbles forwards, swallowing nervously.

'Beauty' certainly isn't the first word Cas would use. In fact, as far as he's concerned, calling Gabriel's truck a _wreck_ would still be an overstatement. It's covered in such a thick layer of mud that Cas can't even begin to guess the colour of the paintwork, not to mention the mountain of junk in the back and clutter – food wrappers, cigarette butts – strewn across the dashboard.

'Are you sure it's safe?' he asks, eyeing Gabriel suspiciously.

'Give me a break,' Gabriel replies, rolling his eyes, 'Of courseshe is. You really think Michael would let me give you a ride if he thought I drove some death trap? She's _totally_ safe. You have nothing to worry about.'

Cas sighs wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. The thought of spending the next two and a half days in Gabriel's piece-of-crap truck is not a pleasant one, let alone the idea of spending that much time with Gabriel himself. Cas knows his brother's oldest – and closest – friend all too well; over the years, he's spent so much time at their house that, by this point, he's practically an honorary member of the family. However, while their mother has to this day remained blissfully unaware of Gabriel's less-than-reputable status, Cas knows everything. He remembers all the long afternoons Michael and Gabriel have spent upstairs, cutting class to share a joint while Rachel's out at work; all the nights they've stumbled through the back door at four in the morning, fresh out of some frat party, wasted on cheap beers; and that one time in the ninth grade when they conveniently came down with the 'flu the day after someone had egged the principal's car.

As much as he's wanted to, Cas has never dared tell their mother the truth about what Michael gets up to behind her back; Michael's twenty-one, three years older than Cas, not to mention he's a good few inches taller and probably thirty pounds heavier. Cas knows that given the chance, Michael could beat the shit out of him without breaking a sweat, and Cas – who generally tries to avoid stepping out of line, period – would do pretty much anything to keep on his brother's good side, so he keeps his mouth shut.

As much as Cas wishes the situation were different - that he was with someone he could bring himself to trust, and in a better car – right now, it seems he doesn't have too many options. Monday is going to be pretty much the most important day of his life, and he's determined to make it to his college interview, no matter what - even if he has to resort to Gabriel as a means of transport.

Cas received the letter from the California Institute of Technology a month ago and opened it over breakfast, hands trembling with excitement. From the second his eyes had skimmed the all-important, _'Mr. Novak, we are pleased to invite you to an interview -'_ , he'd set about meticulously planning his trip to California.

First on his list had been the question of _how_ exactly he was going get there.

Cas rejected the idea of flying almost instantly – he's a little anxious at the best of times, and the thought of being trapped in a glorified tin can at thirty thousand feet made his stomach lurch. Trains and coaches seemed to be a nightmare; long, exhausting, with countless stops and awkward changes along the way, so driving seemed like the only option, but even that proved somewhat difficult to arrange. Cas has thought plenty about driving lessons, but after school, homework, friends and everything in between, the idea has definitely been set to a back burner. So, without so much as a licence, let alone his own car, Cas is used to asking for rides.

His mother, Rachel, was Cas' first port of call, but she sighed wearily when he asked, explaining that she would be out of town on a business trip. Between being the sole breadwinner of the family and running her own company, she's often out of town, and works late most evenings – over the years, Cas has gotten used to seeing very little of her. Michael was Cas' second choice, conveniently home from Princeton for the summer – but, always looking for any opportunity to get ahead, he's taken an internship with a software company in Chicago, and insisted he couldn't afford to take time off either.

Then, there was one otherwise insignificant Friday night a couple of weeks ago when Cas was curled up on the couch, watching TV, and Michael came to his rescue - well, sort of. He returned home late, having stayed behind at work, and joined Cas on the couch after claiming that sleep would be impossible with the amount of caffeine pumping through his system. They talked for a while, and the conversation - inevitably, really - ended up on the subject of Cas' trip. Cas explained his apparent lack of options, and Michael casually suggested he hitch hike his way halfway across the country. The idea sounded a little intimidating at first, but after some careful consideration, Cas began to think this wasn't actually a bad idea, and thought about it quite seriously until Rachel came downstairs and overheard them. She was horrified, having heard horrific rumours about hitch hikers who'd unwittingly ended up climbing into cars with psychopaths and serial killers, and strictly informed Cas he was forbidden from doing so.

It was after their mother went back to bed that Michael told Cas he'd try to persuade Gabriel to give him a lift instead. He burst into Cas' room the next day, declaring that he'd been successful; through a lot of coercion, blackmail (which was easy; the list of Gabriel's shameful exploits was easily a mile long) and a sworn oath to pay for beer on all future nights out, he'd convinced Gabriel to drive Cas to California and back. Cas agreed, albeit a little reluctantly - but he didn't fancy getting on the wrong side of his mother, and would've almost felt bad saying no to Michael. Most importantly of all, Rachel – poor, naïve Rachel – was pleased with this arrangement.

 

Dean

'Dean, hurry up! I'm _dying_ over here!'

Dean wonders why he ever thought it'd be a good idea to ask his fourteen-year-old brother for a favour. He's only asked Sam to hold a box of vinyls while he hunts for the keys to his car, and he's quickly regretting that decision - Christ, if Sam drops that box, Dean's going to be _pissed._ His old records are a beloved collection, pieced together from hours of scouring thrift shops and dusty backstreet record stores. The sooner Dean finds his keys, the sooner he can overt potential disaster.

He rummages frantically through the old dresser in the hallway, dislodging piles of old phone books and crumpled shopping lists while Sam hovers in the threshold of the front door, protesting loudly.

'I told you to give me a minute, Sammy! Jesus, are you really _that_ puny?' Dean replies, only half paying attention to his brother.

'Bite me,' Sam replies, and when Dean looks up at him, he's grinning. Dean grins back, and it suddenly dawns on him; he's really going to miss his little brother. Sure, they've had their fair share of fights, and they sure as hell piss each other off sometimes, like all brothers do – but they can always count on one another. He reckons Sam knows him better than anyone else.

Dean's fingertips hit cold metal when he reaches the back of the dresser, and he untangles his keys from the phone cord, holding them up triumphantly. 'Aha! Found 'em!' he proclaims.

He heads over to the front door, taking the box from Sam, who groans dramatically, pretending to pant and wipe sweat from his forehead. Dean shakes his head; the box isn't even _that_ heavy – he can easily carry it under one arm. He ruffles Sam's hair with his free hand, and Sam squirms away from him, grumbling under his breath. 'That's the last one,' Dean announces, 'Go get Mom and Dad, guess I'm leaving soon.'

Sam leaps upstairs to find their parents, taking the steps two at a time, as Dean heads out to the driveway to load the last box into the trunk of his car. He shoves it into the only remaining gap he can find, and slams the door shut quickly, before there's a chance for anything to fall out. The Impala's filled to bursting point with his belongings, and it's not just the trunk that's packed – the back seat is barely visible underneath a mountain of boxes and bags, and Dean's made the most of any available space on the floor too.

He rests against the back bumper as he waits for Sam to return, pausing to cherish a final look at the house before he leaves. He's ready for California; ready to start playing by his own rules, and make his living doing what he does best – singing and playing guitar. Dean's wanted this almost his whole life; he remembers a hazy August day eleven or twelve years ago when he'd been playing out in the yard and first heard one of his father's old records playing through an open garage window. He'd consider that the defining moment in his life – it ignited his passion for music, and ultimately lead Dean to realise that this is what he was born to do.

All the way through high school, while the other kids in Dean's class had joined after school clubs, prom committees and sports teams, Dean and his bandmates had worked countless hours waiting tables, washing cars, mowing lawns, taking practically every crappy job they could find in order to scrape together the money for an apartment in Los Angeles. When they weren't working or stuck in classes, almost every free hour had been set aside for band practice and playing gigs. Those four years had been exhausting, but Dean doesn't regret a second of it – when they met up after graduation and gathered together the money they'd saved up, they'd immediately known all their hard work had been worth it.

Dean accepts that a part of him is going to miss life in Lawrence. He's lived in that old house his whole life – he knows every scuff on the floorboards and every crack in the walls. It's filled to the brim with memories, too; playing hide and seek with Sam, endless hours spent unearthing the best hiding places, finding his mother in the kitchen in the mornings, backlit by pale sunlight spilling through the windows, and in more recent years, countless times when he's navigated the backyard in darkness, perfecting the climb up onto the garage roof and into his bedroom window when he's sneaked in from a gig at three in the morning.

However, it's undeniable that he'll miss Sam more than anything else; leaving his brother almost feels like leaving a piece of his soul behind. A few nights ago, Sam and Dean had decided to leave their mark on the house forever. They chose a spot underneath the stairs, inconspicuous enough that their mother wouldn't notice, and with the pen knife Dean always carries in his back pocket, they'd shakily carved their initials – D.W and S.W – into the dark wood as a kind of memorial. Dean hopes that he'll return to the house in five, maybe ten years and find those carvings again. He told Sam it would stave off loneliness – _find our names, and I'll be there with you, Sammy._

Dean watches as Sam steps back outside, this time leading John and Mary behind him. His mother's eyes are cloudy with tears as she approaches, embracing him in her arms. 'I guess you're all grown up now! I'm going to miss you so much,' she says, words muffled against Dean's shoulder.

'Mom, you're crushing me,' he groans in reply.

He pulls away, holding her at arm's length, and looks her straight in the eyes. 'I'll be fine _,_ seriously. Don't worry about me,' he assures, smiling.

'I must look a mess,' Mary replies. She laughs half-heartedly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. 'It's okay, Dean. I knew you had to leave someday. Good luck, and have fun, but please – try not to do anything stupid.'

' _Yes,_ Mom.'

Dean loves his mother with all his heart, but he's heard this a thousand times already.

He turns to his father next. 'That's good advice, Dean. You should listen to your mother,' John says, patting Dean's shoulder.

'Yes, sir,' Dean replies dutifully.

'See you around, kid.' Unlike Mary, John has never been one for great emotional outbursts, _and let's face it,_ Dean thinks, _our relationship is less than stellar._

Last, but certainly not least, time to say goodbye to his brother. A tall gene runs in the family, and it's probably only a matter of time before Sam hits a teenage growth spurt, but for the time being, Dean's still a fair few inches taller, and Sam has to stand on his toes to reach his brother's shoulders. They hug, and Dean holds Sam close.

'Gonna miss you, Sammy. You can call any time you want, and I'm gonna wear this every day, promise,' Dean says, winking as he gestures to the gold pendant on a black cord he always wears around his neck. Sam bought it as a Christmas present five years ago, and Dean can't remember the last time he took it off. It seems to have a particular poignancy about it now that he's leaving home; it's a long way to California, and Dean won't be able to come home all that often - Christmases might be the only time he'll see his little brother in the foreseeable future.

'Bye, Dean. Tell me when your first album comes out!' Sam replies, grinning.

Dean climbs into his car and turns the key in the ignition – the engine roars to life, and he can't begin to imagine a better sound in the world.

'All right, let's do this,' he mutters under his breath.

He waves to his family once more as he pulls out of the driveway, and his eyes follow them through the rear view mirror until they're nothing more than specks in the distance. When he reaches the highway, he slips a cassette into the stereo and cranks up the volume until the steering wheel shakes beneath his fingers. He winds one window down and takes a deep breath - summer's in the air, and although it's only eight in the morning, Dean can already tell it's going to be a blisteringly hot day. _It doesn't get much better than this,_ he reckons. He has his music, he has his Impala, and his dream is finally within reach.

In that moment, Dean is ready to conquer the world.

 

 Castiel

Cas and Gabriel reach Amarillo around ten that evening and decide to call it a day. They stop at the first motel they find, a cheap one-storey building on the city limits with a gaudy neon sign out front. Gabriel remains in the truck, lighting up a cigarette as Cas heads inside. He's insistent on finding them a room each; a day in close quarters with Gabriel is enough - Cas is sick of his terrible jokes, and does _not_ want to spend the night with him as well. Exhaustion has given him a short temper, and all he wants to do is sleep.

However, it soon becomes apparent that fortune _really_ isn't on his side that day.

'Are you _certain_ there's only one room left?' Cas sighs, slumped over the reception desk with his head in his hands.

'Sorry kid, just the one. Take it or leave it,' the motel manager replies with a yawn.

Cas groans. They've been on the road for what seems like an eternity, and he Cas is not the mood to argue, nor does he want to make the effort to look for somewhere else to stay. Could one night with Gabriel really be _that_ awful? He's already managed to survive a whole day in the car with him.

'Fine, I'll take it.'

He pays for the room, takes the key and gestures for Gabriel to come inside. Cas glares impatiently as Gabriel finishes his cigarette, and when he's _finally_ done, they head along to their room - which, upon opening the door, Cas is pleasantly surprised to find isn't too bad, considering the amount they paid for it. It seems clean enough, at least, even if it's a little sparsely furnished. Cas would've been willing to pay more, but Gabriel insisted their budget remain at thirty dollars a night or less, which hasn't left them with too many options.

Cas throws his backpack onto the floor, removes his glasses and collapses, face-first, onto the nearest bed - and he's seconds away from drifting off when he feels Gabriel's hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. 'Hey Cas, get your ass up, we're gonna go eat,' Gabriel says. Cas groans in reply, the sound muffled into the comforter.

'Cas, come on!'

Another shake, this one harder.

Cas sits up, rubbing his eyes. 'Gabriel, I'm exhausted. You go,' he mumbles.

'Come on, you haven't eaten since lunch. You've gotta be starving.'

As much as he craves sleep, Cas has to admit Gabriel's right - his stomach's been rumbling all afternoon. 'Fine,' he grumbles, climbing slowly off the bed, 'But we'd better find somewhere nearby. I'm going to bed as soon as we're done.'

...

It's only when they head back outside and take a good look at their surroundings that they realise their motel really _is_ on the very outskirts of the city. Through the dim glow of streetlights, Cas make out a gas station next to the motel and few factories down the road, but otherwise, they might as well be in the middle of nowhere. The only place that seems to be serving food is the roadhouse opposite, which Cas doesn't like the look of one bit.

'Guess we're eating there, then,' Gabriel announces, practically dragging Cas across the road behind him.

The stench of cheap booze and cigarette smoke hits Cas as soon as he opens the door, and he waves one hand in front of his face, coughing as he steps inside. The place is packed; Cas grimaces as he inches through the crowd to the only free table he can find, while Gabriel goes up to the bar to order their food.

Cas waits for Gabriel nervously, keeping his eyes locked on his phone in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact with several middle-aged guys in leather jackets, ex-Hell's Angels-types, at a nearby table. Out of the corner of his eye, Cas can see them glaring at him, and he can't decide whether they're ogling him or trying to pick a fight – either way, he doesn't want to find out. This certainly isn't the kind of place he wants to be alone in for long, and he's almost relieved to see Gabriel again when he returns with their food.

'What took you so long?' he asks as soon as Gabriel sits down.

'Girl I met at the bar,' Gabriel replies, grinning. 'I invited her back to our table. Jesus Christ, Cas, wait till you see her. Forget ten outta ten, she's a fucking twelve, at _least_.'

Cas glances over Gabriel's shoulder to the girl in question; a brunette, making her way towards them, balancing a tray of tequila shots in one hand as she teeters along in platform heels. She catches Cas' eye, and he smiles at her wearily.

'Hey, boys,' she chirps, sliding into the seat next to Gabriel. She extends a long, slender arm towards Cas and shakes his hand enthusiastically.

'I'm Ruby,' she says, smiling.

'Cas,' he replies. Cas understands what Gabriel meant, although he's never been all that interested in girls himself - Ruby _is_ beautiful, but in a dark, vampish sort of way, and Cas swears there's wicked glow in her near-black eyes. Simply put, she looks like trouble, and she's already slurring her words as she introduces herself.

'Hey, Cas, you're kinda cute,' Ruby giggles, and nudging Gabriel, adds, 'Not as cute as this guy, though!'

Gabriel and Ruby lick salt off one another's hands before downing two shots each, laughing near-hysterically at the sour expressions they pull afterwards. Cas watches them quietly, anger bubbling below the surface - _what the hell does Gabriel think he's doing?_   As soon as Cas can get a word in edgeways, he interrupts them, taking Gabriel's arm as he stands up. 'We need to talk,' he murmurs under his breath, 'In private.'

'Okay, Cas. Ruby, we'll be right back,' Gabriel replies slowly, frowning at Cas. Keeping a firm grip on Gabriel's arm, Cas squeezes back through the crowd, heading towards the men's room – seemingly the _only_ room in this damned place where he'll actually be able to hear himself think. As soon as the door swings shut behind them, he raises his voice. _'Gabriel, what the_ _hell_ _are you doing?'_ he asks, ' _Please_ tell me you remember that you're driving to California tomorrow, right? Do you honestly think this is a good idea?'

'Come on, Cas! Let the grown-ups have some fun!' Gabriel replies, 'I'm doing you a favour, right? So, you can return the favour by letting me have a few drinks. Then we'll be even!'

'That’s _not_ how it works,' Cas groans, exasperated, 'Michael already returned the favour. I don't owe you anything.'

'Oh my God, Cas! Are you ever gonna lighten up a little? So yeah, I'm having a drink – what's the big fucking deal? _Jesus Christ,_ you're so uptight. You know what you are? You're _frigid_ , man.'

Gabriel leans in to stare Cas straight in the eyes, so close Cas can smell the bitter alcohol on his breath.

'Awh, poor little Cas. Look at you,' he taunts, 'You've never had a second's worth of fun in your life, have you? Eighteen years old, and still nothing more than a kid. Hell, I'd bet anything you're still a virgin, right?'

'What the hell does that have to do with anything?' Cas replies, furious, 'You know what, forget it. I'm going back to the motel.'

Gabriel giggles in reply. 'Later, Cas. You want me, come and find me. Maybe I'll even teach you how to live a little.'

Cas shoves the door as he steps outside. The cool night air is a relief, and he pauses for a moment, letting it wash over him. Outrage and anguish tangle in his stomach, making him feel sick. He makes a vain attempt to reassure himself that Gabriel's a little drunk, the words probably just spilled out of his mouth; there's no real way he could've meant what he said –  but another, much darker corner of Cas' conscience begins to think that maybe Gabriel's right. The thought slowly seeps into his mind like ink through water, darkening his thoughts. He kicks at the ground, scuffing the toes of his shoes. God, all he needs right now is a little peace and quiet, time to himself – and sleep. Cas doesn't want to waste his time with stupid  concerns like this; he has far more important things to worry about.

He resolves to head back to the motel and call Gabriel every ten minutes, and if he’s not back within the hour, Cas hopes he'll somehow muster the courage to march across the road and drag him back, if that's what it comes down to. The motel reception is now empty, save for the manager, who's at the desk watching some Spanish soap opera on a small TV, nodding in Cas' direction as he walks past. Cas takes his phone out of his pocket on his way down the corridor, half-hoping he'll find some kind of apologetic text or voicemail from Gabriel, but there's nothing; little surprise, really.

As soon as he enters the room, Cas heads straight for the armchair in the corner, collapsing into it - he's careful to avoid the bed, knowing that if he were to lie down, he'd be asleep in seconds. He dials Gabriel's number, waiting through ring after ring until it goes to voicemail. He hangs up, waits ten minutes, tries again – still nothing.

Another ten minutes pass.

The third time he tries, Gabriel finally answers. 'Hey, who - who's this?' Gabriel asks, his voice barely distinguishable over pounding music.

'Gabriel, it's Cas. I've been trying to reach you for half an hour. When are you coming back?'

'Cas? Oh - Cas! Yeah! You finally decided to have some fun?' Gabriel sounds _totally_ wrecked now, and Cas wonders just how much he's had to drink. Gabriel snickers loudly, and Cas can just about make out Ruby's voice in the background, yelling something about wanting to dance.

'No, you have to listen, all right? You need to get back here, whether you like it or not. Gabriel, I am  _begging_ you,' Cas groans. He takes off his glasses and rubs wearily at his eyes. He's beyond shattered – just thinking straight has become a struggle, and his patience is wearing thinner by the second.

'O-okay, Cas. Calm down! Give me, like, fifteen minutes, okay? Fifteen! I'll be back!' Gabriel replies, hanging up promptly.

Cas rubs his temple; a dull ache is beginning to worm its way through his skull, and he's in no mood to deal with this. In this moment, all he wants, more than anything in the world, is to curl up in a warm bed and get a good night's sleep.

...

The next thing Cas knows, he's awaking to a brilliant flood of sunlight. The motel room is bathed in a warm glow, and almost silent; Cas can hear nothing more than the distant rumble of traffic. He lies back, feeling wonderfully at peace - well, for around ten seconds, until the events of the night before come rushing back to him. He inhales sharply, bolting upright in the armchair.

_Oh, shit._

He fell asleep. And worse – the room's empty.

Gabriel never made it back.

 

**II.** **Sweet hitch-hiker**

 

Castiel

Cas leaps out of the armchair and tries to inhale in deep, slow breaths, fighting the urge to panic. He checks his watch – it's 10 AM. He overslept. He tries Gabriel's cell again, hands shaking as he hurriedly punches numbers and holds the receiver to his ear. No luck – the number's been disconnected. God only knows what happened to him last night. Cas rushes to the window to see if his truck is still in the parking lot.

It's nowhere to be seen. Gabriel could be anywhere right now.

_All right, Cas. Keep it together._ He falls back into the armchair, attempting to plan his next move carefully. His best option now, most likely, is to try and find a coach or a train; in that moment, more than anything, he wants to find Gabriel and fucking _murder_ him for running off like this, but getting to his interview is all that matters now. Kicking Gabriel's ass can wait until he gets home.

He heads to the bathroom, and scowls when he sees his reflection in the murky mirror above the sink. He blinks sleepily, studying himself under the fluorescent light - his hair seems to defy gravity, sticking up in every direction imaginable, and despite having slept for more than ten hours, there are still heavy dark circles under his eyes. He jumps in the shower, dries off as quickly as possible, scrambles into clean clothes and shoves everything into his backpack. He hurries along to the motel's reception to see if he can find someone, _anyone_ , who might be able to point him towards the nearest bus or train station, but he finds it empty.

_Well, that's what you get for a shitty thirty-dollar-a-night motel._

He leaves the room key on the desk, walks out to the parking lot - and _really_ begins to wish they'd picked somewhere else to stay. It's like the previous night is playing on loop; in some sick twist of fate, the roadhouse once again seems like his only option. As much as Cas does _not_ want to venture in there again, he figures beggars can't be choosers, so he swallows his pride, crosses the road and enters.

At least the previous night's crowd has vanished; Cas is relieved to find the place refreshingly empty, save for one young looking guy at the bar and a several trucker-looking types in plaid and baseball caps in booths along one side of the room, eating some of the greasiest breakfasts Cas has ever seen – he grimaces as he walks past, heading over to the bar. He perches on an unpleasantly sticky barstool and tries hard as he can to avoid thinking about whatever he might be sitting in.

'Excuse me?' Cas asks the gruff-looking barman, distracting him from a football game on TV. He glances briefly in Cas' direction before turning his attention back to the screen.

'I was just wondering if you could tell me the nearest place I could catch a bus?' Cas continues,  'Or a train? I don't really mind which, I just need to get out of here as soon as possible.'

'You'll have to head back into the city, and that's gonna take a while. No bus stops round here, and only freight trains pass through this part of town,' the barman replies, eyes still glued to the game, 'You want my advice, kid? You'd be better off hitch hiking. Often works out quicker and easier; lots of folks come in asking for rides. There ain't nothing shameful about that.'

Rachel's stern words of warning echo in Cas' head, but as much as he knows his mother would disapprove, he quickly finds himself considering the barman's advice. He needs to get going sooner rather than later, and the thought of attempting public transport makes his head swim. He's never been to Texas before in his life, a train or a bus could easily end up taking longer than planned (and time _is_ of the essence here), and he'd almost certainly have to change several times along the way, which would mean navigating more unfamiliar towns and states on his own. Cas has barely left Illinois before, other than a couple of tedious family vacations and school trips, always carefully mapped out by someone else. Cas has never had to rely on pure intution before, it seems every moment of his life so far has been determined for him. He's been thrown into a situation that's totally foreign – not to mention slightly terrifying -  and he would readily admit he has _no_ idea what he's doing. Listening to someone who actually knows what they're talking about would probably be a good idea right about now.

'All right,' he mutters. He takes a deep breath and turns to address the rest of the room, 'Is anyone here headed to Southern California, or perhaps somewhere _remotely_ in that direction?'

A long pause follows, as Cas scans a few blank expressions – the only reponse he receives are a couple of shrugs (which he can only assume mean 'no'), before the truckers return to their food or resume conversation. Up until now, Cas has tried to avoid self-pity, but now he can't help himself, and he slumps back down on his barstool, burying his head in his hands.

That's when Cas feels a light tap on his shoulder - and when he looks up, there's a boy about his age staring down at him, with a warm, genuine smile on his face.

'Hey, I'm Dean. I'm headed to Los Angeles, and, um – I could give you ride if you want,' he says.

Cas'll be damned if Dean isn't attractive.He's tall, just a fraction more so than Cas; broad across the shoulders, with piercing green eyes and a peppering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. In fact, there's freckles everywhere, and Cas' mind starts to drift quickly, wondering how far they extend.

Cas realises he's been staring _far_ too long and leans back on the bar counter, trying to play it cool, but _Christ_ , it's not exactly easy – and Cas has always been a little socially awkward, even at the best of times.

'Uh, sure. I'm going to Pasadena,' he replies, attempting to sound nonchalant. 'Castiel, by the way – but most people call me Cas.'

'Well, nice to meet you, Cas,' Dean says. He holds out one strong, calloused hand and grins, flashing a set of perfect white teeth.

They shake hands and head outside. Dean smiles as they approach his car - 'I'd like you to meet my better half,' he announces proudly. Cas glances down to the passenger side window, assuming there'll be some gorgeous girl lounging in the front seat, but it's empty, and looking around, he realises there's no one else in the parking lot.

'Uh, Dean?' Cas asks, confused, 'What do you mean?'

'I meant her,' Dean replies, patting the roof of the car, 'She's my baby.'

There's a long pause. Cas realises he knows nothing about cars.

'It was a joke, Cas,' Dean explains at last. 'Never mind.'

'Oh. Am I going to be able to fit inside?' Cas asks, gesturing to the vast collection of boxes and bags covering the car's backseat and the floor.

'We'll manage. If you don't like it, you can always walk to California,' Dean replies, winking.

Cas settles gingerly into his seat, navigating his way carefully around Dean's belongings. Within a few short moments, they're pulling out onto the highway, and Cas feels he's finally where he needs to be.

And Dean certainly doesn't _seem_ like some kind of serial killer.

Cas hopes that maybe, just maybe _,_ things are going to work out after all.

 

Dean

Dean stopped over in Oklahoma for the night and set off early in the morning, deciding to stop for breakfast at this little bar just outside Amarillo – and he'd certainly been surprised to see Cas come stumbling through the door. He looked like a good kid, clean-cut, wearing expensive clothes; Dean can't help but think how out of place Cas looked in the kind of joint where Dean reckoned the typical customer would be either a trucker, a hooker, an alcoholic or a junkie.

Dean took sympathy on Cas the moment he saw him – he pretty much looked like he's been to Hell and back – and when it turned out he was headed to California, Dean thought; well, why the hell not? After all, even with all the cassette tapes in the world, he reckoned the journey ahead could still grow a little dull. Cas was clearly in need of help, and Dean would always be happy to have company; so, all in all, a win-win situation, right?

Besides, once he's able to get a good look at Cas, Dean can't deny that he's actually kind of hot underneath the Clark Kent glasses and the dishevelled clothes. He's tall, with an athletic build, dark hair and Christ, his eyes; Dean feels like he's drowning in that gorgeous, hypnotic kind of blue. Cas has this odd kind of nervous energy about him, and Dean thinks it's strangely endearing, and from the way Cas is acting, well; _does he even know how hot he is? Damn._

'So – why are you headed to California?' Dean asks, breaking the ice.

'For a college interview. Oh shit. Listen, Dean.' Cas replies, turning to him, 'It's at three tomorrow afternoon, and I _have_ to be there on time. I cannot afford to screw this up – my whole future depends on it.'

Dean considers this; they're still a long way off from California, and a time limit is something he hadn't needed to think about up until now. 'You do realise we've still got fifteen hundred miles to cover, right?' he says.

'More like fourteen hundred, give or take, and taking into account speed limits and road conditions, it should take us twenty-one hours, not including breaks,' Cas replies.

Dean blinks at him in disbelief.

'Dude, are you like Rain Man or something?' Dean asks, chuckling.

'No, I just like to plan ahead, take everything into account. I'm not bad at calculating stuff either, I suppose,' Cas says, a little sheepishly.

'Okay, I'll take your word for it. You'd better be right about that,' Dean replies, 'So if your interview's at three, that means it's...' He pauses, muttering numbers under his breath.

'...twenty-nine hours. Well, a little less now,' Cas says.

'Shut up, I knew that. Okay, as much as I'm sure you just want to get there and be done with everything, you gotta remember we _are_ human, Cas. I mean, we're gonna need breaks, whether you like it or not. Sleep probably wouldn't be a bad idea either. I can survive on four hours if I have to, I drive fast anyway – but it's still gonna be pretty damn close. Sure you're okay with that?'

Cas is quiet for a few moments. 'I suppose so. Oh God,' he groans, 'The rest of my _life_ hangs in the balance here - Dean, I have to be able to trust you on this. You have to promise you'll get me there on time, please?'

'Look, I don't know if I can do that, Cas. I don't know what's gonna happen along the way. What if there's a storm or something? Or we crash? Not that we're going to, of course,' he quickly adds, after seeing the horrifed look on Cas' face.

'Okay, I'm really not helping here, am I?' Dean sighs, 'Look, short of any natural disasters, crazy drunk drivers, anything _totally_ out of my control - I swear I'll give it my best shot, okay?'

If anything, Cas looks more anxious now than he did before. Dean's starting to feel genuinely concerned he'll end up with a ulcer or something if he doesn't relax a little. 'Dude, I'm happy to take you, but you've _gotta_ loosen up. Come on, let's change the subject. Where are you from?' Dean asks, praying small talk will distract Cas a little.

'Pontiac, Illinois. It's about two hours from Chicago. What about you?' Cas says, and Dean's relieved to hear he sounds a little calmer now.

'Lawrence, Kansas. Near Kansas City.'

'If you don't mind me asking – why do you have this many boxes?' Cas asks, gesturing to the floor and the back seat, 'I would assume that you're moving to California? Either that, or you must be taking an extremely long vacation.'

'Yeah, I'm moving there. I'm setting out on my own, gonna dictate my life from now on. I guess this is a pretty big deal for me.'

'What are you planning to do there?'

'Uh -' Dean pauses. He's used to a disapproving reaction when he tells people he wants to play in a band for a living – certainly from adults, and people his own age are usually doubtful, at the very least. _'The Future'_ and _'What are you planning to do with your life, Dean Winchester?'_ are topics he's learned to avoid as much as possible.

'I'm in a band,' he begins slowly, 'I play lead guitar and sing. We're all moving to LA, renting an apartment together.'

He pauses, glancing at Cas, who smiles and nods for Dean to continue.

'We're all kinda busy this summer, so we're getting there at different times, but we're gonna get everything up and running by the end of August,' he explains, 'We've saved up for years to do this. We figured we'll play the bar circuit for a while, get other jobs on the side, and some day we'll get noticed by a record label and become the next biggest thing. Well, so we keep telling ourselves. I guess we ain't had a whole lot of support along the way.'

He's pleasantly surprised by Cas' response.

'At least you know what you're going to do, and clearly you've prepared,' Cas says, 'I think that sounds great, Dean. I guess being a musician could be exciting. I used to play the piano, but I never considered making a living from it. What kind of music do you play?'

'Well, uh, I've written a couple songs, but I don't think they're much good. So far we've ended up doing a lot of covers – classics, usually; AC/DC, Zeppelin, a couple of Stones songs, you know.'

Cas looks puzzled, furrowing his brow when Dean glances at him.

'Dude. _Please_ tell me you know what I'm on about,' Dean replies incredulously, 'You can't tell me you've never even heard of _The Rolling Stones,_ at least! The Sixties, Cas, that ain't exactly modern! They're, like, one of the most famous bands that ever lived.'

'Of course I've _heard_ of them,' Cas says defensively, 'But I don't know if I could name you one of their songs.'

Dean holds up a hand to stop him. He won't listen to this a second longer. He decides there's two things he'll do for Cas – number one is getting him to California, but as far as Dean's concerned, number two is just as important – a masterclass on the importance of great music.

'Seriously. This is _not_ happening. I'm not gonna let you walk away without hearing some of the greatest music mankind has ever created. Reach in that box by your feet, the one on top, pass me that first cassette,' Dean says, reaching for the stereo, 'It'll blow your fucking _mind_.'

 

Castiel

Cas listens attentively while Dean introduces him to the music he's so crazy about. The band he plays are called AC/DC – Cas has heard the name before, and recognises a couple of songs once he's heard them, but wouldn't have been able to recall any of their names. Dean looked like he'd seen a ghost when Cas admitted that. Dean plays a whole album, claiming it'd be a crime to stop it halfway through; he pauses the tape between tracks, however, to discuss the band's history and musical influences in enormous detail - and then proceeds to exclaim things like, _' _Oh, dude! This is the best part!'__ or _' _This guitar riff is a fucking masterpiece!'__ at regular intervals throughout each song, despite his previous threat to Cas that, _' _If you dare interrupt perfect music, I swear to God, Cas, I will stop this car and leave you on the side of the highway.'__

Cas studies Dean's tape collection while they listen - shoeboxes stuffed with cassettes piled up on the floor space beneath the passenger seat - pawing through row after row of plastic cases, taking a few out to examine their labels. It's a melting pot of studio albums, live recordings, demos and homemade mixes, complete with the track listings printed in bold, black marker on neat labels. Cas smiles, admiring the care and effort Dean's taken – it's refreshing to find someone who still listens to cassettes and vinyl records.

When the tape finishes, Dean turns to Cas with a smile stretching from ear to ear. He's not even trying to hide his excitement - it's so obvious he's loved the opportunity to introduce Cas to something he's really crazy about.

'So, what do you think?' Dean asks eagerly.

While Cas considers that AC/DC aren't the sort of thing he'd listen to of his own accord, he has to admit they're pretty good. He even listened intently to Dean's detailed biography, and found himself smiling throughout it. Cas loves talking to people who are shamelessly, obsessively passionate about something - it was a pleasure for him, to watch the intensity that shone in Dean's eyes when he talked about music. It's a feeling Cas knows all too well – he's well aware that there's a fair share of things he's more than a little obsessive about too, although admittedly, these would be more along the lines of history, literature and science, rather than music.

'They're interesting,' Cas replies, 'I'll definitely look them up sometime.'

Cas can't help but notice the smug grin that creeps across Dean's face after he says that.

'So, Cas. Now it's your turn. Everyone's nerdy about something, what about you?' Dean asks.

Cas chuckles. 'Are we really going to open that door, Dean? You might regret asking.'

'Come on, you just listened to me for a solid half hour. Go ahead.'

'Okay. I guess it would be astronomy, then. That's what I'm planning to study, and the universe has always fascinated me,' he replies. If Dean's happy to let Cas ramble as much as he likes, then he's going to seize the opportunity with both hands.

'It's just so incredible, I think, to look up at stars and planets that are millions of miles away from us, and to realise just how much is out there,' he continues, 'I mean, Earth is only the beginning. To think that there's an infinite universe out there for us to discover and explore, that we haven't even begun to scratch the surface yet; I don't know, maybe this won't make any sense, but, I find the whole idea of it -' he pauses, grasping for the right word, '- liberating, I suppose. I mean, I come from a religious family, and I really do find religion fascinating, but ultimately, I put my faith in science, because I believe in free will. Well, the the idea of it, at least. Execution always proves a little more difficult - but I have hope, Dean, and that's why I want to devote the rest of my life to this sort of thing.'

Cas finishes, studies Dean's reaction to what he just said, and realises he probably ended up getting way more philosophical than he intended. _You only just met Dean, there's no need to scare him off yet._

'That was deep, man,' Dean replies at last. Cas studies his face for any hints of sarcasm, but finds nothing, and comes to the conclusion that he's actually serious.

'Maybe one day I'll write a song based on what you just said,' he adds a few moments later, winking at Cas.

...

They're quiet for a while after that, but it's a companionable silence. Cas begins to feel better about the situation - sure, it's far from what he originally planned, but Dean seems nice enough, and Cas already feels like he can trust him _way_ more than Gabriel. Well, not that Gabriel set the bar high.

Dean breaks the silence eventually. 'Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?'

'Sure.'

'If you don't mind me asking, _why_ exactly were you hitch hiking? I mean, all due respect, but what's a guy like you doing in a place like that?'

'To cut a long story short, my brother's best friend is an asshole. He was supposed to give me a ride, but he disappeared with some girl last night and I haven't heard from him since. Honestly, I probably shouldn't have trusted him in the first place.'

'Couldn't someone else take you?' Dean asks.

'Not really. My mom and my brother were too busy.'

'Your dad?'

God, Cas does _not_ want to head down this road. Just the very mention of his father upsets him – it always manages to rekindle so much guilt, anger; awful, dark feelings, ones that he's spent years trying to extinguish.

'I don't have a dad,' he says quietly, 'At least, I'd prefer to think that I didn't.'

Dean pauses. 'I'm sorry, Cas. Believe me, I kinda know what that's like,' he replies slowly, 'But your mom must know how important tomorrow is for you, right? You made that clear to me straight away. I don't know, all this just sounds weird to me. You seem like the kind of kid who'd come from a decent family, I can't believe that none of them were able to take a couple days off for you.'

'You're by yourself too, you know,' Cas snaps. They've wandered into dangerous waters, and Cas is not remotely comfortable talking about his family, especially to a near stranger. 'You don't know my family. You barely know me. How dare you judge them. How _dare_ you assume that I'm from some fucking perfect suburban fairytale because of the way I look! You know _nothing_ about my family, and you're never going to, okay?'

Cas sits back in his seat, turning away from Dean, and chews his lip. He didn't mean to lose his temper like that, but it seems his family always have a horrible way of bringing out the worst in him. He scowls as the sour, metallic taste of blood creeps into his mouth.

They're quiet for a long time after that. Dean eventually switches the stereo back on, but it does nothing to alleviate the silence between them.

 

**III.** **Born to be wild**

 

Castiel

The next hour passes just like that, with no words, only the soft hum of whatever album Dean slipped into the cassette player. Cas glances at Dean a handful of times, and a part of him wants to apologise. He almost tries to say something once or twice, inhaling briefly before stopping himself – even if Dean _is_ hurt, he has, albeit inadvertently, aroused something dark in Cas. So many of his insecurities have risen to the surface; memories of years spent feeling worthless and pathetic, that he's tried so hard and so long to bury. His whole life, Cas has always been the one to apologise first. No matter what someone's done to him, no matter how dismal he's felt, he's always given in to his guilt, and he's had enough. He decides he's not going to be the first to say sorry this time.

Dean eventually mumbles something about stopping for gas, and they pull in at the next town along the highway. Cas gets up to stretch his legs while Dean fills the tank.

It was Hell to Cas, sitting in a car with someone when you reckon there's a pretty good chance they hate you. He begins to seriously consider starting afresh, getting a lift with someone else - whether he's with Dean or not, he knows he'll be cutting it close to get to his interview, and the minutes are beginning to drag by agonisingly slow. God, he can't imagine another day of this. Dean seems nice enough, but there's no denying the rift that's emerged between them. Cas makes his decision soon enough, and heads back to Dean's car. Dean is crouched by the back bumper, replacing the fuel cap when Cas approaches, and he stands up slowly to meet Cas' eyes.

'Dean,' Cas says, 'I need to talk to you.'

'About what?' Dean replies blankly, arms folded over his chest. That friendly voice and eager smile that greeted Cas back in Texas are gone now.

'I think I'm just going to head on by myself from now on. Try to find -'

'Someone else?' Dean interrupts.

'Don't do that.'

'What?'

'Just - don't make it sound like that,' Cas says, 'Look, I'm sure the past hour wasn't exactly fun for you either. I just think this'll be easier, okay? Good luck with your band.'

With that, Cas hauls his backpack out of the passenger seat and starts heading over to what's probably his best hope now – a small diner next to the gas station, with a long line of trucks parked nearby. He stops when he hears Dean's voice behind him.

'Hey, Cas.'

He turns around.

'Look, I'm not leaving right away. I'm gonna park over there -' Dean begins, a touch of resignation in his voice. He gestures to the parking lot just behind the gas station, 'And I'll be in that coffee place across the street. You might run into trouble in a place like this – I've dealt with this kind of stuff before. If anything goes wrong, come and find me, okay?'

Dean climbs back into his car, and Cas watches him leave. Whether it was intentional or not, he's done a pretty good job of making Cas feel guilty about losing his temper.

Cas sighs, and heads towards the diner.

 

Dean

Dean watches Cas head into a crappy truck stop, where he'll undeniably stick out just as badly as he did when they met that morning. _Poor kid's in way over his head,_ Dean thinks. _He seems decent enough, his intentions are probably good, but he's so naïve. He just falls apart when things don't go his way, and if he carries on like that, he's either gonna end up in some really deep shit, or have some kind of breakdown once he realises the world ain’t as great as he thought after all._

Dean really doesn't know how to feel about Cas. Talking to him was like navigating a cliff face - one false move and everything just seemed to fall apart; and worst of all, as much as he _wants_ to, Dean can't even bring himself to be angry at him. He feels torn between wanting to slap some sense into Cas, and yet, at the same time, he wants to apologise for ever hurting him, to protect him from all the monsters out there in the world that will undoubtedly try to hunt him down. He's got to hand it to Cas - for everything that's happened, the one thing Dean knows for certain is that he's never met someone who's made him feel quite the same way before.

He's chosen a table at the front of the coffee shop to keep an eye on Cas - all Dean wants to do is see who he's leaving with. If Cas climbs into a car with a nice elderly couple or a family, then Dean's going to try his best to forget all about him – looking at the place, though, he reckons the odds of that actually happening are slim. He tries to forget about Cas, tries to distract himself by flirting with the pretty waitress who strolls over to refill his cup - but he soon realises that Cas is pretty damn difficult to forget about; especially considering he's just left the diner, and he's not alone.

Dean doesn't like the look of the guy he's with, not one bit.

'Is something wrong?' the waitress asks.

'Huh?' Dean replies, distracted, 'Oh - no, everything's fine. Listen, I've gotta go. Nice talking to you, sweetheart.'

Dean pays for his coffee, leaves a tip for the waitress and exits quickly. He crosses the street and walks over to the Impala slowly, keeping his distance as he watches Cas. The guy he's with is heavily built, with tattoos covering his forearms, a scruffy beard, hair and clothes to match, and they're standing over by his truck. In a different situation, Dean probably wouldn't look at him twice – Dean's met plenty of guys like that in bars before, most of them perfectly decent – but in that moment, Dean's instinct is telling him that there's something sinister about this guy. He and Cas are standing just out of earshot, but Dean has a clear view of them, and Cas doesn't seem to like what the trucker's saying to him. Some sort of protective instinct – perhaps from all those years of watching out for Sam – ignites within Dean, and he heads towards them.

That's when he sees the trucker punch Cas square in the jaw, grab him by the collar and drag him behind the diner.

'Cas!' Dean yells, breaking into a sprint. Round the corner, he sees Cas shoved up against the wall, with one thick hand clenched tightly around his throat. 'You're gonna do whatever the fuck I say,' the tattooed guy snarls, 'You listen to me, and this'll all go a lot quicker. You got that?'

'Hey, asshole!' Dean shouts, 'Get the fuck away from him.'

'Or what?' the trucker yells back, sneering, 'What are _you_ gonna do about it?'

Dean grabs him by the shoulder and throws the first couple of punches, his fist making contact first with the trucker's right shoulder, then his stomach. He swiftly proceeds to punch back, landing Dean square in the nose. The next few seconds become something of a blur; the next thing Dean knows, they're both on the ground and Dean's knees are planted either side of this guy's chest. Dean's right fist is in the air,  and he's ready to take another swing  when he feels Cas' hand grasp his own. Dean tries to pull away from his grip, but Cas holds firm, and Dean finds he's stronger than expected.

'That's _enough_ , Dean,' Cas says, his voice hoarse.

Dean feels the tension begin drain from his body, adrenaline fading away. His chest heaves, sweat condenses on his forehead – he catches his breath and Cas offers him a hand, helping him to his feet. It's when he stands up and stares down at the blood on his knuckles that he realises the full extent of what he's done.

_'Oh, shit,'_ he moans, 'Come on, Cas, this ain't gonna be easy to explain. We've gotta get out of here – now.'

He grabs Cas' arm and they race back to the Impala. Dean fumbles for his keys, hands shaking violently, and after what seems like an eternity spent trying to unlock the car doors, _finally_ he's back in the drivers' seat, with Cas by his side. It takes two or three attempts to turn the key in the ignition, and Dean curses under his breath – but the engine comes to life at long last. He slams the gas pedal, and the Impala's wheels spin wildly as they pull out of the parking lot, back out onto the highway.

 

Castiel

They drive in silence for around ten minutes or so, speeding along at ninety, when Cas tells Dean to pull over. Dean's a mess - his hands are still shaking, there's a jagged tear in the collar of his shirt, and the blood on his nose is beginning to darken and crust. Cas catches a glimpse of his reflection in the wing mirror and realises he doesn't look much better; there's a graze on his right cheekbone and a line of purple bruises running across his throat. He decides they could both do with some fresh air, a chance to clean up, and a few moments to process exactly what just happened.

Dean pulls into the first rest stop they come across, switches the engine off, and turns to Cas. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words come out. Cas chooses to fill the silence instead.

'Dean. You saved me back there. Without you, I - I don't want to think about what could've happened. I don't think I can begin to thank you enough. I was such a jerk to you earlier, I realise that now, and you still beat the shit out of some guy for me.'

Dean smiles weakly. 'Don't mention it, Cas. There's just one thing I want in return.'

'Anything.'

'I made a promise to you, so now you're gonna make one to me. Stick with me from now on. Don't go off with some asshole again.'

'I promise,' Cas replies, and Dean flashes him another one of those gorgeous grins. Cas can't help but think the blood on his face ruins the effect a little, though.

'Dean, I'm sorry, but we've got to do something about _this_ ,' Cas says as tactfully as possible, gesturing to Dean's nose. Dean pulls the mirror down to study his reflection and groans at the sight.

'Oh God, I look like shit.'

Cas laughs softly. 'Don't worry, I'll clean you up. You have a first aid kit?'

'Nope.'

'What would you do if you were in an accident or something?'

'Walk it off?'

'Dean, I'm serious.'

'Okay, okay!' Dean glances down at his shirt and paws at the tear in the fabric, 'I guess we could use this. Not gonna get much wear out of it now.'

He reaches round for the back of his collar and lifts his shirt up over his head in one fluid movement. 'Hey, Cas, pass me that duffel bag.'

'Cas? Hey!' Dean snaps his fingers right in front of Cas' nose.

_Oh crap._

Cas realises he's been staring again and hurriedly reaches for the bag at his feet, passing it to Dean. He turns away while Dean changes into a clean shirt - and he's fairly certain he remains undetected when he steals a quick glance in Dean's direction in the wing mirror, smiling to himself as he does so.

They sit out on the hood of the Impala afterwards, and Cas dabs carefully at Dean's nose, using a bottle of water he dug out of his backpack, along with Dean's discarded shirt - it's a little primitive, but they've picked a remote place to stop and it seems there's not much else he can do.

The amount of blood on Dean's nose is alarming, but it isn't quite as bad as Cas would've thought – it doesn't look broken, at least, although Dean winces several times as Cas cleans him up.

'I'm not a doctor or anything; I hardly know what I'm doing. Dean, look – maybe we should go find an emergency room or something,' Cas says, after the fifth or sixth groan from Dean.

'I'm good, Cas. Not like it's the first time I got beat up. I'll be all right,' he replies casually.

For a while afterwards they simply sit, side by side, and enjoy the sunshine. Cas curls up with his head on his knees and Dean lounges next to him, smoking a cigarette, long legs dangling over the front bumper.

Here Cas is, in a beautiful place, with an equally beautiful guy, who practically saved his life when they've known each other barely more than a couple of hours; Cas is still struggling to believe it all. It almost seems like a dream; he half believes he'll hear his alarm go off any second and this world will collapse, leaving only a shadow behind - but the only sounds he hears are the cool wind sailing across the desert and the drone of an occasional passing car. It's almost perfect, except that there's still a weight on his chest. Cas can't help but feel bad for everything that's happened, and simply apologising to Dean doesn't seem like enough.

'Dean, I owe you an explanation,' he begins, 'I think you deserve one. Look, I don't know if I want to go into detail, but to summarise - I just have a really shitty relationship with my family, okay? Especially my father; just the mention of him makes me see red, and I'm not usually one to lose my temper at all. I've always tried to avoid talking about him, and my mom, and that's why I was upset earlier. I thought I was angry at you, but I really wasn't, and I overreacted. You had no idea, and it wasn't your fault that you asked. It's just that my whole life, I've come across so many people who've just assumed that I have a great family, and a great life, because of how I look, because I go to a good school, and I can't stand it. Does that make any sense?'

'Yeah,' Dean replies, 'It does, really. I mean, I get judged too, all the time; for different reasons, I guess, but I know what it's like - and if it's any consolation, I _really_ don't get along with my dad, either.'

He turns to Cas and smiles. 'You know what, Cas?'

'What?'

'Maybe you and I aren't so different after all.'

 

**IV.** **Breaking the rules**

 

Dean

That afternoon passes as well as the first hour or so had - Dean's learned his lesson, and carefully avoids any topics he thinks might upset Cas; so they talk about everything else instead. Dean's pleased to discover Cas is just as much of a movie buff as he is, and they argue playfully over their top tens – they move onto TV shows next (after some persuasion,Cas promises Dean he'll start watching Game of Thrones) - Dean spends half an hour explaining to Cas why vinyl is _so_ much better than MP3, and Cas conveys science and history to Dean in a way infinitely more fascinating than his teachers had ever managed to.

When the conversation eventually drifts towards the subject of school, Dean shrugs. 'I ain't got much to say. High school was all right at best, real shitty at worst; and I sure as hell never paid much attention,' he says.

Dean knows deep down that he _is_ intelligent, and could probably do well if he tried, but he's never been academic - he grows restless if he's not active, up and about actually _doing_ something, so as far as he's concerned, the prospect of sitting in a classroom for hours on end is a pretty miserable one.

'Honestly, Dean? I didn't like it much either,' Cas replies.

'Really? How come?' Dean asks, surprised.

'I was interested in most of what we learned, I liked a lot of my teachers - but I went to private school, and you can't imagine how awful that was. There was so much pressure on me to do well, it was _so_ stressful, to the point where I just couldn't enjoy it. It's probably why I worry so much – years of practice, right? I can't wait for college. I mean, it's still a lot of work, but at least there'll be no one breathing down my neck all the time. I can see why you're so excited about starting a new life for yourself, Dean – because I've finally got a chance at a fresh start too, and I really can't wait for it either.'

Cas drifts off to sleep around five, with his head resting against the window, using a sweater as a makeshift pillow. His glasses ride awkwardly up his nose and he snores gently; and, glancing at him, Dean reckons this is the first time since they've met that he's seen Cas look truly peaceful.

 

Castiel

When Cas awakes, the sky has darkened to amber and the fading sun has dipped to the horizon, casting long shadows across the ground. The Impala is stationary. Cas sits up and studies his surroundings; through the dusk, he can make out a weather-beaten old gas station on one side of the highway and restaurant opposite. A few twinkling lights scattered in the distance could be a small town, but there seems to be little else around, just seemingly endless desert for miles in every direction. Cas stretches, rubbing his eyes, and that's when he sees Dean heading back towards the car.

'Morning, sunshine,' Dean chuckles as he climbs back into the driver's seat.

'Where are we?' Cas mumbles.

'Arizona. Got here a half hour ago, stopped for gas.'

'How long was I out for?'

'Couple hours,' Dean replies, checking his watch. 'You hungry? We could try that place over the road.'

'Sure,' Cas replies, smiling.

…

'The Breakfast Club.'

_'No way!'_

'Yes, and I stand by that opinion, thank you very much.'

If asked, Cas wouldn't be able to recall exactly how they ended up debating the greatest John Hughes movies, but nevertheless, here they are. They finished their food a while ago – Cas couldn't comprehend just how much Dean was capable of eating – and talking to him just seems so easy now; the conversation has flowed effortlessly all evening, and this isn't the first time they've sailed off on some unexpected tangent.

'You're telling me you'd pick The Breakfast Club over Ferris Bueller's Day Off? _Seriously?'_ Dean asks, incredulous.

'Yes, I would. I love the moral behind it - you know, they discover they essentially share the same problems, even though they seem totally different. Don't get me wrong, I love Ferris Bueller's Day Off, but the message in The Breakfast Club is far more powerful.'

'Seriously? Ferris Bueller told us we should live life to the full, make the most of every day! Tell me, Cas, how is that not an equally great message?'

'That's my opinion - deal with it,' Cas replies. He sits back in his seat, arms crossed, and grins triumphantly.

'Whatever. Your opinion's wrong, though.'

'Fuck you!' Cas says, grinning. He flicks a crumb playfully at Dean, who responds by hurling a handful of ketchup packets at Cas. They narrowly miss him, scattering across the table behind them – which, fortunately, is empty.

'You're such a dick!' Dean says, laughing.

'Oh, am I? You're the one who'll get us kicked out if you continue throwing projectiles at me,' Cas replies, playfully punching Dean's arm. Dean swats his hand away, grinning.

'You know what? I'm beginning to understand why you love Ferris Bueller so much,' Cas says, 'You're just like him, aren't you? You just live for the moment, you seize the day, and you don't seem to worry about anything. It's admirable, actually. Sometimes I wish I could be like that.'

'I don't know about that, Cas,' Dean says. He chuckles, but Cas can't help thinking it sounds apprehensive, a little forced. 'I guess I can see why you'd think that, though.'

Dean pauses. 'Can I ask you something?'

'If I remember correctly, the last time you said that, things turned a little sour afterwards. But all right, go ahead.'

'Did you, I don't know – have fun this afternoon? I mean, are you happy here, with me?'

'Well, it’s not exactly where I expected to be,' Cas says, 'But I certainly appreciate your company, Dean. It hasn't been without its faults, but yes, I very much enjoyed spending the afternoon with you.'

'Well, you're about to enjoy it even more,' Dean replies, winking at Cas, 'Give me a minute, I'll be right back.'

There's a touch of mischief in Dean's voice, and it makes Cas uneasy – he sounds eerily close to Gabriel, and he reaches out as Dean stands up, placing a hand on his forearm. 'Where are you going?' Cas asks.

'I said give me a minute. Come on, after everything that's happened, you still don't trust me?'

Cas hesitates, studying Dean – but staring up at him, it takes nothing more than a heartbeat for him to realise that Dean is nothing like Gabriel. He’s not cold or condescending – sure, he's a little mischievous, and Cas reckons he's got a rebellious streak, but there's a wonderful warmth nestled in those green eyes, and Cas does truly believe that he is inherently good. He's known Dean less than a day, but it already feels like so much longer than that, and Dean hasn't let him down once, not even for second.

'Okay. I trust you.'

'Be right back.'

…

However, Cas quickly doubts his decision when Dean returns. He has a beer in each hand - God, it's like last night all over again. _'What are you doing?'_ Cas hisses under his breath.

'Helping you relax, Cas. You said you'd trust me on this,' Dean replies.

'But you didn't _tell_ me what you were going to do!'

'Give me break. Enjoy yourself a little. I thought booze would help.'

'We're underage! Think how much trouble we could end up in if we got caught. How did you even -'

'Fake ID,' Dean cuts him off, waving a piece of plastic in front of Cas' nose, 'Comes in handy for playing gigs. A lot of places won't let you in if you're under twenty-one.'

'Give me that,' Cas replies, snatching it out of Dean's hand. He studies it carefully. It's incredibly well-made, and if he didn't know any better, he'd probably believe it was legitimate. 'It says you're a student at the University of Kansas. I have to hand it to you, Dean - it's actually quite convincing.'

' _Trust me,_ Cas,' Dean says, leaning forward and edging a bottle towards Cas. 'Come on; you said you're always so stressed all the time, and I just want you to have some fun, seriously. I'm doing this for _you_ , okay? You told me you want to start a new life for yourself. Why not start now? You've played by the rules your whole life – come on, man. Don't you wanna shake it up a little?'

Cas holds his stare.

'Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you.'

…

Cas soon realises why Gabriel couldn't seem to stop at just one drink. Cas has drunk a little before, but never enough to actually _get_ drunk. He's never trusted himself enough to let go, figuring he'd probably end up doing something he'd regret - but now, everything just feels _different_. The past twenty-four hours have already felt surreal; the meticulous order that Cas' life has thrived on for years has been thrown totally off-balance, the rule book has been torn into shreds; and Cas thought that it would terrify him, but it really doesn't any more. In this moment, Cas knows that if he leaps into the unknown, Dean will be there to catch him – so he holds his breath, closes his eyes, and dives in.

After they've had a couple of beers each, Dean brings back two short glasses filled with something Cas doesn't recognise. 'It's some kind of special they do here. I think there might be Jaeger in it,' he says, squeezing one eye shut as he stares suspiciously into his glass, 'I don't know, I just thought they looked cool. Cheers!'

Dean downs his drink in one go, and Cas can't help but laugh at him afterwards; he tries _so_ hard to play it cool, but his face contorts into a frown, and he winces audibly, his eyes screwed shut.

' _Fuck_ , that is _strong_ ,' he gasps.

'Oh, really? I couldn't tell,' Cas replies, smirking a little.

'Your turn.'

Cas doesn't really know what to do here, so he follows Dean's direction, downing his drink in one. It burns his throat on the way down, but he attempts to shrug it off, thinking it'll give him some strange sense of satisfaction if he can handle his drink better than Dean could. Dean grins and applauds as Cas turns his glass upside down, smiling weakly.

'Damn, Cas. You can really handle your liquor,' Dean says, eyebrows raised.

'Not really,' Cas croaks, pausing. His eyes water, and he shudders violently. ' _Christ,_ you weren't exaggerating, were you?'

After that, it's Dean's turn to laugh at him. 'So, you drunk yet?'

'I don't know, I've never been drunk before,' Cas says, 'But life generally seems good right now, you're definitely funnier than you were before, and everything's getting just a little hazy around the edges. I guess that's what it's like?'

'You're getting there all right,' Dean replies, grinning.

The room spins, and Cas decides he needs a moment to compose himself. 'I'll be back in a minute,' he says, standing up, gripping the edge of the table to steady himself, ' _Don't_ order me another of those while I'm gone, okay?'

'I can't promise you that.'

Cas heads to the bathroom, feeling light-headed. He runs a cold tap and splashes icy water on his face, praying the jolt will steady him a little – it helps, and he breathes deeply. He dries off and turns to leave when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, barely recognising his reflection. He studies himself in disbelief.

_What are you doing, Cas? It's like you've transformed into a completely different person. You let a perfect stranger give you a ride, and now look at you. You're getting drunk with him, he's flirting with you and you're just going along with it -_

The thought slips through before Cas even has the time to process it. _Wait – Dean's just being friendly, right?_

_He_ stumbles, leaning against the sink to steady himself. He tries to brush it off - _wishful thinking, Cas. You don't even know if he's even interested in the same sex, period, let alone you_ \- but the the idea's taken hold of his mind, and refuses to let go.

_You can do this. You haven't ruined this yet - you've gotten this far, haven't you? God, who knows? Dean could end up being the greatest thing that ever happened to you, but you're never going to know if you don't take a chance. You've been afraid long enough, Cas. Dean's something special, and you're not going to come across someone like him every day. He gave you some good advice - now use it. Take a chance. You admire that carefree philosophy of his, now's the time to put it into practice._ _As he put it; shake things up a little._

Cas heads back out into the restaurant, and Dean greets him with an eager smile when he returns to their table. Cas slides into his seat, planning his next move carefully. 'Dean, I want to ask you something -' he begins, stopping abruptly when he notices a woman approaching their table. There's a stern look on her face, and Cas' high spirits begin to sink a little. He glances at Dean, who shrugs in reply, putting on his best smile as he turns to her.

'Hey, can we help you?' he asks.

'Yes, you can. I'm the manager here,' she replies, 'And one of my employees has reason to believe you're using a fake ID. If that's the case, then I'm afraid we're going to have to call the cops.'

A lump rises in Cas' throat. He feels sick. _This can't be happening, not now. We're so close._ A thousand scenarios race through his mind - getting arrested, riding in the back of a police car – not to mention a humiliating phone call home to his mother. He can't begin to imagine how pissed Rachel would be if she had to drive a thousand miles to pick up her son from a police station in Arizona. What if Cas misses his interview? After everything he's been through to get there, all of it will be thrown away because he's been _stupid_ enough to let himself get caught up in a ridiculous fantasy, where he'll go on a whirlwind adventure with some beautiful guy who offered him a ride.

_Honestly, Cas, you must've known you were fooling yourself. This was never going to work._

'You know what? You got me,' Dean begins. He rises slowly from his chair, hands in the air as if in some kind of mock defeat. 'Yeah, your employee's right, that ID is one hundred per cent fake. Guess it was only a matter of time before the law caught up with me. Can't be a renegade forever, right, Cas?'

Dean winks at him, and Cas grinds his teeth, glaring bitterly.

'The thing is, ma'am, I just can't get arrested tonight,' Dean continues, and the alcohol starts talking. 'You see, if that were to happen, it'd kind of put a damper on my plans for the rest of the evening. I'm with this guy here – I think he's kinda cute, and I'm starting to think I like him. Not to get too ahead of myself, but I'd say there's a decent chance he likes me back. He's been staring at me all day – trust me, Cas, I noticed. I was really hoping we could spend the night together – I don't know, light some candles, maybe watch the stars together, all that romantic crap, you know? But, the law's the law, so if you've really gotta do this, there's just one thing I want to say before you dial 911. Look, Cas, I know you hate me right now, but you've gotta listen to me, okay? There's something we've gotta do -'

_(What the hell is he doing? He's going to get us in even more trouble than we're already in.)_

_'- run.'_

The next few moments are a blur – Cas watches as Dean grabs his hand, but it feels distant, as if it's happening to someone else, and the world spins at a million miles an hour as they run out into the parking lot. Through the dark and the haze of alcohol, Cas can barely see three feet in front of his nose, and he falls almost head first into the passenger seat of the Impala, breathless. The savage roar of the engine sends shockwaves through his body as the gas pedal hits the floor, and the wheels shriek against the tarmac as they fly out into the desert, and into the night.

 

Dean

Everything's happened so quickly.

Dean didn't think; he just followed his instincts. The only thing he managed to remember coherently in that moment was his promise to Cas, and he'll be damn sure of keeping it, no matter what – even if it means doing something as crazy as this. It's like New Mexico all over again, tearing along at God knows what speed, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart hammering so fast it feels like it might burst out of his chest.

Dean jolts, barely maintaining his grip on the wheel when Cas tells him to pull over. His voice is loud and leaden with authority – it's threatening, and Dean doesn't want to test him.  He hits the brakes hard and the Impala skids to a halt, stopping just off the highway in a cloud of dust.

_'Oh my God -'_ Cas begins. His voice is quiet, but there's a powerful undercurrent to it, like the distant rumble of thunder before a bolt of lightning, and Dean winces, one eye screwed shut, just knowing Cas is going to erupt any second.

'You're a fucking _psychopath!'_ he yells, his voice filling the car.

Dean turns to Cas cautiously. He's inhaling in short, sharp breaths, and the look in his eyes is nothing short of _vicious_. He glares at Dean, there's a few seconds of deafening silence, and then - they both burst into fits of laughter. Dean can't help himself; the tangle of nerves in his stomach, the aftershock of adrenaline rushing through his system, and the sheer absurdity of the situation just hit him all at once. Cas throws his head back, his eyes light up, his whole body seems to glow with life – and it occurs to Dean that he looks beautiful in that moment.

'Dean, you are _completely_  insane,' Cas giggles, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, 'But I would be lying if I said I didn't love it.'

 

**V.** **Angel**

 

Castiel

They decide to sleep in the Impala that night – the nearest motel could easily be an hour's drive away, if not more, and it's clear that Dean is in _no_ position to be driving right now. The question of where to sleep seems trivial to Cas by this point - he's a little drunk, high on a rush of excitement, and honestly, he doesn't really care where he is any more, so long as Dean is by his side.

Dean leaves the Impala's headlights on, the only other light coming from the stars above, radiant against the inky sky. The temperature has dropped sharply, and there's a chill in the air, but neither one of them wants to stay inside the car - this night is too beautiful to waste. Dean pulls two old blankets out of the trunk for warmth, and they climb up on the roof of the Impala, wrapped up, side by side underneath the stars.

'I always wanted to see the night sky this way,' Cas says. He turns to Dean and smiles. 'Out in the desert, there's no light pollution, nothing to spoil its beauty. It gives you a new perspective, doesn't it? The constellations look spectacular.'

'Honestly, I can't tell them apart,' Dean replies. He shifts along, sliding closer to Cas, until their shoulders touch. 'Come on, Cas. You're the expert at this. Teach me.'

'Okay, uh, let's see. That one there is Ursa Minor,' he explains, pointing up at the sky, 'Some people call it the Little Bear, or the Little Dipper, because it sort of looks like it has a handle. See, there's the shape at one end? That one over there is called Andromeda. It was discovered by Ptolemy; he was a philosopher who lived during the time of the Roman Empire. He named the constellation after a character in Greek mythology - she was left to be killed by sea monster, but a character named Perseus saved her. He went on to marry her afterwards, and they lived happily ever after, I suppose.'

He turns back to Dean, and their eyes meet. 'You're not even paying attention, are you?'

'I'm listening,' Dean replies. He smiles, studying Cas slowly. 'I'm just - distracted, that's all.'

'Dean, did you really mean everything you said back there?' Cas asks quietly. He pauses.  'About me? About – us?'

'Yeah. Honestly, Cas, I thought you were kinda hot the second we met,' Dean replies. He turns red and chuckles, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck. 'I don't know, but all day, I swear it's just like you've had this _hold_ on me. I can't help it.'

'You know what? I felt something too, from the moment I saw you, but I was _so_ certain you wouldn't be interested in me. I mean, for all I knew, you were straight. You didn't give me much reason to think otherwise, up until twenty minutes ago.'

'People can surprise you, Cas. You shouldn't assume anything based on looks. Remember how pissed you were when I did that?' Dean replies, and Cas hears a darker tone in his voice, 'And it's not like I'm - _gay_ _,_ anyway. God, I don't even know what I am.'

Dean lowers his head and stares hard at the ground, biting his lip. _Dean,_ who fights, smokes, drinks – suddenly, there's something in his eyes that makes him seem ten years younger. He looks vulnerable, almost like a lost child, and Cas places a hand on his shoulder. 'Hey, it's okay,' he says softly, 'Dean, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking – you're right, I shouldn't make assumptions. We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to.'

'No, Cas. _Fuck,_ I'm so sick of keeping everything locked up inside me. Look, I don't know, this might sound stupid, but I feel like I can trust you. I wanna tell you something I never told anyone else before, okay?'

Cas nods in reply.

'God, here goes,' Dean begins, 'I like guys, I like girls – I never wanted to label myself. I'm not ready to live up to who I am. Cas, you said earlier I don't worry about a thing - bet I seem so fucking sure of myself, right? Well, that's something else you shouldn't assume, 'cause I'm not, okay? I just act like I don't have a care in the world, like I fucking _love_ myself, and I'm sick of it. I want to stop hiding. I want to stop being so afraid of everything. _God_ , I bet I sound so stupid. I always say really dumb things after a couple drinks – forget it.'

'No, Dean - I know how you feel,' Cas replies, 'I'm not comfortable with who I am either, for so many reasons. I've never felt comfortable with my sexuality. I've never dared tell anyone.'

'My dad knows about me, and that's the worst thing.'

'If you want to tell me,' Cas begins, 'Then do. Let it out. Come on, it's just you and me. I'm not going to judge you - I've only known you a few hours, and besides, I want to be here for you. I feel it's the least I can do, after everything you've done for me.'

Dean takes a deep breath.

'I'm from Kansas, Cas, and it's so hard for me to be who I am, growing up somewhere like that,' he begins, 'It's so fucking _oppressive_. I mean, I could get the shit beaten out of me if I just walked down the street holding hands with a guy. It's part of the reason I want to move to the West coast – I guess people are more accepting out there, right? My dad's lived in the Midwest his whole life, he's from a different generation, he's an ex-Marine; I guess I always knew he wouldn't understand. When I was a kid, he taught me how to fix a car, how to shoot a gun, got me to play sports; he controlled how I looked, did everything he could to mould me into exactly what he wanted me to be. I realised who I really was in middle school, and I knew he'd hate me if he ever found out - so I never told him. First hooked up with a guy when I was fifteen, and there's been others since, but I always covered my tracks. I tried _so_ hard to keep him from the truth. Then, last summer - I have no idea how, but John Winchester found out that his son, his perfect little soldier, was a _fucking_ queer – and he just _lost_ it. I mean, he always had a temper, he wasn't afraid to discipline me and my brother when we were kids – but it was never like this. I mean, like it was so bad that I almost blacked out - and no matter how hard I try to forget it, I can't. I still have reminders - like this,' Dean pauses, pulling the collar of his shirt to one side, and Cas holds his breath when Dean reveals the jagged scar running across his shoulder.

'That ain't even the only one. I had to lie to my mom and my brother about all this, it's not like I could hide it - so I made up some bullshit story about getting mugged on the way home from school. I swore I'd _never_ lie to Sam, and I still hate myself for it, every single day. The only way I can deal with all this is if I ignore it, act like nothing's wrong. That's what everyone sees – but it's not who I really am.'

Dean's eyes water, and he turns away from Cas quickly, burying his face in his hands. Cas wraps one arm around Dean and leans gently towards him, resting his forehead against Dean's temple.

'Dean, I had no idea,' Cas murmurs, 'You really weren't kidding about your dad. Saying you don't get along with him sounds like a gross understatement now.'

'What about yours? You wanna tell me now?' Dean replies.

Cas sits back and sighs, filled with reluctance – but he feels Dean deserves to know. He's spent years running from the memory of his father, but Dean's words have struck a chord in him, and deep down, he knows Dean's right. Cas doesn't want to live in fear, especially a fear of the past, and letting it all out might allow him some sort of emotional relief. He's wanted catharsis for a long time, and now that he's with Dean, someone who might actually understand, he might just be able to achieve it.

'He walked out on us when I was ten,' he begins, 'Nearly five years passed before I finally uncovered the truth – that he cheated on my mom – but my brother and I, as far as we were concerned, it was our fault. We had no reason to believe any different. It hit our mom really hard; suddenly she had to be everything to us - both a mother and a father figure, and she had to work twice as hard to put food on the table. I mean, she did well, she makes a lot of money now; but I suppose, with my dad out of the picture, she wanted to push Michael and I as hard as she could. It seems that if we grew up successful, she could begin to feel better about herself. Michael's at Princeton now, studying Computer Science - he just proposed to his girlfriend a few weeks ago, and no doubt he'll be running his own software company in a few years' time. Sometimes I just feel like I can't compete with that. No matter how hard I try, I'm never going to be my brother. I'm never going to be good enough.'

'You're going to college, right? Why would your mom be disappointed in you? I mean, look at me, Cas. I barely scraped through high school,' Dean replies.

'It's not just that, Dean. It's like success, or maybe luck, I don't know what; _something_ good has followed Michael around his whole life. He was valedictorian of his high school year, class president, captain of the lacrosse team - he's succeeded at almost  _everything_. He had one of the best grade point averages our school's ever seen. I'm three years younger than him; can you imagine what it was like, all the way through high school, to be reminded constantly of my brother's achievements? It was always, “Hey, Cas, your lap time out on the track today was great, but you still haven't beaten Michael's record,” or if I got a B in class, my teachers would remind me of Michael's straight A's. It was _suffocating -_ I was good, but never quite as good as him. He balanced everything so well - grades, a social life, relationships. He always managed to please our mother, too, even if she didn't know about half the things he actually did - and believe me, Dean, he's no saint.'

'So, does anyone in your family know – you know, that you like guys?' Dean asks.

'Not at all. They are  _very_ religious and conservative. Does that begin to explain why?'

Dean nods.

'I'm not saying faith is a bad thing,' Cas continues, 'Not at all - but a lot of people I know, including my mom, seem to just use it to justify their bigoted beliefs. I've always viewed religion in an objective way; I think it's interesting, but as far as I'm concerned, it's a choice. My mom never saw it that way, though. She believes with every fibre of her being that God is real, and from what I remember hearing in church, people like me – like us – are sinners. I feel that if I came out to her, it'd just give her another reason to be disappointed in me. Hell, she'd probably disown me.'

'God, look at us,' Dean sniffs, 'We're both as bad as each other. We're a hot mess.'

'I'm not even sure what that means,' Cas replies, 'But yes, I suppose we are.'

Dean chuckles half-heartedly.

They're both quiet for a while after that - they simply sit, and admire the night together. Cas' arm drops to Dean's waist, and he nestles his head in the crook of Dean's shoulder. He listens to the steady thud of Dean's heart and breathes in the warm, earthy smells of tobacco and leather as he burrows his head closer to Dean's neck. Dean places a hand on Cas' arm and squeezes gently, resting his chin on the top of Cas' head.

When Cas finally lifts his head to look at Dean again, he seems calmer, mellower – more like the guy Cas first laid eyes on in Texas that morning. 'Dean, can I ask you something else?'

'Yeah, sure,' Dean sighs, 'I guess I ain't got much left to hide any more.'

'How many guys have you been with?'

Dean blinks at him incredulously. 'Jesus, Cas.'

'What? I'm curious, and I'm allowed to say stupid things when I'm drunk too. Besides, you just said -'

'Yeah, yeah, I know what I said. Fine, let me see. Honestly, I don't know if I remember 'em all. Four, five, maybe; it might be more than that, I don't know.'

'Girls?'

He pauses. 'About the same.'

'Were those all relationships, or... what?'

'There was only one you could actually call a relationship. Her name was Lisa, and we were together almost a year, but it didn't work out. I guess I started hanging around with some bad people, she got scared and ended it – I hated her for it at the time, but _I_   was the one who screwed it up. I don't blame her any more. Everything else was just one night stands, I guess – like I'd meet a girl at a party, or a guy backstage at a gig, I'd be wasted, it'd end in sex, and that'd be it. Believe it or not, I ain't exactly proud of that, Cas. I'm starting to think I _do_ want more than that, but that's just how it is. No one wants to stick around.'

Cas pictures Dean in some back room at a bar or a dingy bathroom stall, on his knees for someone who didn't even know his name.

'Dean, you're worth so much more than that,' Cas murmurs, 'It sounds like you've been spending time with the wrong people. You could definitely find someone who _would_ stick around, I'm sure of it.'

'Thanks, Cas,' Dean replies, and his eyes light up as he smiles. 'What about you? Any skeletons in your closet?'

'No. I've never been with anyone.'

'Seriously?'

'Is that honestly so difficult for you to believe?'

'Yeah, it is.'

'Well, like I said, I haven't come out yet. Not even my closest friends know. It's not like I'm completely inexperienced – I _am_ eighteen – but I've never gotten very far either. I guess I'm just too nervous to jump in, take a chance. I'm afraid of rejection, afraid of being left behind.'

Cas pauses. He's so close to Dean that he can see their breaths, warm and condensing against the cold, entwine and dance through the night air. 'Dean, I want you to know how much I've enjoyed spending the day with you. You've helped me realise a lot of things, and you have no idea how much I needed to get all of that off my chest. I know it hasn't been long, but I mean it when I say you're a really great person, Dean.'

'So are you, Cas. You've got a hell of a lot more going for you than you think,' Dean replies, 'This might sound stupid, but I really like you, and I'm starting to think – that there's something between us, you know? Does that make sense?'

Cas nods, and smiles.

'God, Cas – I'm fucking _crazy_ about you,' Dean says.

He leans towards Cas, and kisses him.

 

Dean

Dean hasn't kissed anyone this way since his first. It's careful and precise, so gently executed it borders on chaste - but he's grown tired of careless endearments, and he wants this to mean something. It's short and sweet, and he savours it.

When Cas kisses him back, it's something quite different; he grabs the collar of Dean's shirt in his fist and pulls their bodies together for an open-mouthed, hungry kiss, lips, tongues and teeth clashing. It's inelegant and clumsy, but the sincerity of it is beautiful. The cold night fades into irrelevance, time seems to stop, the vast desert seems to shrink away - nothing else matters in that moment. This kiss becomes their entire universe.

Dean's the first to pull away, tilting his head to one side as he plants soft, small kisses behind Cas' ear, nibbling his earlobe, nipping gently at his neck – he pauses to catch his breath when he reaches Cas' collarbone, pressing his forehead to Cas' chest. Cas leans into his touch, hands cradling the base of Dean's neck.

'Back seat?' Cas murmurs, running his fingers through Dean's hair.

'Not enough room,' Dean chuckles, lifting his head to meet Cas' eyes. 'And besides, Cas, much as I want to – if you think I'm gonna fuck you, or you're gonna fuck me, you'll be disappointed. No way that's gonna happen tonight.'

Cas frowns, cocking his head to one side. 'What is it? I did something wrong, didn't I?' he sighs, placing a hand on Dean's chest, fingers splayed over his heart.

'No, no, I didn't mean it like that,' Dean replies, 'Look – what I'm saying is, if we do this here, now, it's probably gonna hurt, and you won't enjoy it. Trust me, okay? I wasn't ready the first time I did it, and I ain't gonna let that happen to you. We'll save it for another time, not here, not in my car. I wanna see you again anyway. We'll save it for another time, do it right.'

He smiles at Cas.

'Besides,' Dean adds slowly, raising an eyebrow, 'There _is_ other stuff we can do.'

'What did you have in mind?'

'I'll show you.'

Dean's feet reach the ground in one swift movement as he slides off the roof of the car, motioning for Cas to join him. He takes Cas' hand and pulls him in for another kiss, before opening the front passenger door and sinking into the seat.

'Come here.'

Cas climbs into his lap and closes the door behind them. He removes his glasses first, turning to place them on the dashboard, exposing his slender neck and the strong line of his jaw as he leans back - Dean seizes the chance to plant more kisses there, lips descending gradually, tongue darting out to locate the softest parts of Cas' neck. He pauses twice to bite and suck at the skin, hard enough to leave red swells and bruise the flesh. Cas hums in response, moaning when Dean bites down hardest.

Dean's hands drift to the buttons of Cas' shirt, undoing them clumsily, and he tosses it to the floor before reaching for Cas' belt buckle, fumbling in the half-darkness. Cas follows his lead, pawing the collar of Dean's shirt in his fist; Dean removes it with one smooth glide up and over his head – but discarding the remaining layers between them proves to be a little more difficult. There's little space to move around in, and it's a mess of tangling limbs and breathy laughter as they scramble out of jeans and shoes and underwear. The leather seats squeak as they shift around, and Dean snorts loudly - Cas blinks at him for a moment before a smirk creeps across his lips, and they both break into giggles, clutching onto one another, Dean's head buried against Cas' chest.

'Shit, I'm sorry,' Dean breathes, 'Still kinda drunk, I guess.'

Cas laughs, and kisses him again.

Dean's silenced as Cas climbs back into his lap, and he pauses, running his hands down Cas' chest, his stomach, studies how the muscle moves under his touch. God, he's fucking _beautiful._ Dean takes it all in – the way Cas' hair is messed at the front, the glow in his eyes, even through the half-darkness; his pink, swollen lips; his cock curving up against his stomach, already flushed dark at the head.

Dean grabs Cas' waist, pulling their bodies close, and they rut together slowly, Cas' hips grinding in languid circles against Dean's. Feverent kisses are punctured by soft moans against one another's mouths, as they touch and caress all over, taking everything they can. Dean takes a handful of Cas' hair in his fist, while Cas runs his hands across Dean's chest, grips his shoulders for anchor, plants wet kisses along his neck.

Dean's usually capable of holding out, and he's damn proud of it – but not tonight. Maybe it's the booze, maybe it's Cas, but his orgasm builds fast; he feels it now, curling hot and low in his stomach, burning pressure through his thighs.

'Cas, I can't – gonna lose it already,' he groans into Cas' neck.

'Do it,' Cas whispers, right into Dean's ear, and the dark smoke of his voice is almost enough to send Dean over the edge then and there.

'- And let me help,' he adds. He takes Dean in his hand, and a few glides, just a little too dry and bordering on rough, is all it takes – Dean's body trembles as he comes, his grunts buried into Cas' neck.

Cas moans low and loud when Dean returns the favour, taking Cas' cock in hand, palm rough and calloused against the skin. Cas is pliant under his touch, rocking his hips into Dean's fist, kissing him with fervour, rubbing circles into the back of his neck, toying with the soft, short hairs at the nape. Dean works him with long strokes, running his fingers across the head of Cas' cock, teasing the slit with a fingertip, smearing precome down the length. He nips at Cas' neck, his ear, bites and sucks hard at the soft flesh below his jaw.

He quickens his pace when Cas' eyes turn glazed, using his free hand to rake his fingers through Cas' hair, pulling back his head to kiss the column of his throat.

'Know you're close, babe. _Come for me_ ,' Dean breathes, lips pressed to Cas' jaw - and Cas does, back arching as he comes, moaning Dean's name. He spills hot over Dean's hand and his stomach, before collapsing against his chest, head pressed into the crook of Dean's shoulder.

Cas' breath is hot and heavy against Dean's neck as he comes down, and they share another long, deep kiss when Cas eventually lifts his head.

'We made a mess,' Dean mumbles against Cas' neck, grinning. 'God, you were great, Cas.'

Cas laughs.

'So were you.'

…

The Impala's closer to fifty than forty now, and as much as Dean loves his baby, her heater’s not that great at the best of times, and he starts to feel the cold quickly. He nudges Cas, wanting to get up and dressed, but Cas is stubborn, grumbling and wrapping his arms tighter around Dean's neck. It takes some gentle coaxing and a handful of kisses before he finally slides out of Dean's lap. They clean up and change quickly; when Dean notices Cas shivering, he gives him an old sweater to wear, and tells him to keep it.

Dean insists Cas take the back seat. There's little room anywhere in the car, but he figures the back will probably be comfier than the front, and manages to rearrange the boxes so that there's just enough space for Cas to sleep, taking ten minutes or so before he's satisfied. Dean resigns himself to the front of the car and clears one misty window as he lies back, stealing another glimpse at the constellations above. Cas was right; usually Dean wouldn't take the time to appreciate it, but the sky really does look incredible tonight. He lights a cigarette, and it casts a warm glow as it smoulders between his fingers.

'Dean, I just remembered something,' Cas mumbles softly, breaking the silence. His voice is heavy with sleep - Dean assumed he'd already drifted off a while ago.

'Yeah, Cas?'

'I was going to ask you this earlier, but I guess we got a little - preoccupied,' he replies, chuckling faintly under his breath.

'Go ahead.'

'I was going to ask you to sing, maybe play your guitar a little. I want to hear what you sound like.'

'All right,' Dean replies. He sits up, stubbing his cigarette out into the ashtray, and reaches over to the backseat for his acoustic. 'What do you want me to play?'

'I thought we already established I'm terrible with music,' Cas says, yawning softly. 'Just play whatever comes to mind.'

Dean pauses, and his eyes drift to Cas in the near-darkness. A song comes to mind soon enough, or a few lines of it, at least.

'All right,' he whispers, gently strumming the first chords.

_'...I want your love, let's break the walls between us,_

_Don't make it tough, I'll put away my pride;_

_Enough's enough, I've suffered and I've seen the light._

_Baby;_

_You're my angel,_

_Come and save me tonight._

_You're my angel,_

_Come and make it all right.'_

He finishes clumsily, with trembling fingers. Dean's never really been one for romantic gestures, but he wanted to be honest, and that really was the first song he thought of when he looked at Cas.

'Dean?' Cas mumbles.

'Yeah, Cas?'

'You're amazing.'

'So are you,' Dean murmurs.

Cas begins to snore just moments later.

 

**VI.** **Miss you in a heartbeat**

 

Dean

Dean awakes in the early morning - the air is cool and dusky, but fresh. The alien landscape is drenched in deep, foggy blues, and the sky has lightened to an icy grey, flecked with wispy clouds painted in orange and red.

He sits up and stretches, stiff from an uncomfortable night. A dull ache lingers at the base of his skull, just the faintest shadow of a hangover, but Dean shrugs it off - he's survived a hell of a lot worse before. He glances at his watch, and it reads ten past five. From what he can gather – although it's a little hard to tell where they've ended up – they still have plenty of ground to cover. _Better get going._

He glances over his shoulder to the backseat. Cas is out cold – he leans against the window, tangled in Dean's sweater and the blanket covering him, leaving only his head and feet visible. The early morning sun casts him in a pale glow, the light catching tiny glimmers of gold in his hair. Dean reaches for the ignition and turns the key cautiously, muttering silent prayers it won't wake Cas - he looks so peaceful, curled up, snoring gently. The engine roars to life, and Dean holds his breath, exhaling a soft sigh of relief when he glances back at Cas - he's silent, still fast asleep.

 

Castiel

They reach Flagstaff an hour later, and Dean wakes Cas reluctantly after he parks the car, nudging him gently. Cas is bleary-eyed and sleepy, but greets Dean with a warm smile, and they head off to find somewhere to eat. The city is almost deserted, eerily and strangely beautiful, and they wander down empty streets looking for anywhere that might be open, their hands entwining somewhere along the way. They eventually pass a small diner and spy a girl inside mopping the floor; they knock on the door until she opens up. Dean piles on the charm as he leans in the doorway, convincing her to let them in. 'Come on, it's not that early,' he drawls, 'We have money. Go easy on us.'

…

Dean takes a long gulp of coffee, eyes following Cas over the rim of his cup.

'Cas, can I borrow your phone?' he asks.

'Uh, sure,' Cas replies, reaching into his pocket, 'Why, did you lose yours or something?'

'No, I'm putting my number in it. I'll get mine, you can do the same,' Dean says, fingers gliding over the screen. He takes his phone out and places it on the table, nudging it towards Cas. He glances up, eyebrows raised. 'What did you think I was gonna do?'

'I don't know,' Cas mumbles, shrugging.

'Seriously? After everything? After _last night?'_ Dean asks. 'Are you kidding me, Cas? I wanna keep in touch. I mean, come Fall, it won't be hard - we'll only be living, what, forty-five minutes from each other? Don't tell me you don't wanna see me again.'

'No, believe me, I do. It's just -' Cas pauses. He picks at the corner of a napkin, and tries to choose his words carefully. 'I just feel like it's all happened so quickly. Yesterday felt a little surreal - I'm still trying to catch up, that's all. But if this is the start of something, then I don't want to lose it.'

Dean smiles. 'Me neither.'

Cas adds his number to Dean's contacts, and they swap phones again. Cas hesitates, unsure about what he wants to say next. 'Listen, Dean,' he begins slowly, 'Now that you've mentioned it; can we talk about last night?'

'Oh my God, Cas. Here?'

'Yes.' Cas gestures to the empty room; the waitress has long disappeared into the kitchen, and Dean and Cas are the only customers in the place - it's not technically open until seven, but Dean's charm has paid off and they've managed to get in half an hour early. 'No one's going to hear us.'

A sly grin spreads across Dean's face, and he lowers his voice a touch. 'Okay. Let's talk about last night.'

Cas leans forward. 'I just want to know what you thought. Did you really mean what you said? Was I _good –_ _really?'_

Dean exhales slowly, leaning back in his seat. He studies Cas for a few moments, eyes darting over him playfully. 'Yeah,' he replies softly, 'For your first time, you were something special, Cas. You don't have to keep asking me. I meant it then, and I mean it now.'

'Thanks, Dean. It's just that you've been with a few people already. You knew exactly what you were doing. I didn't, really. I just sort of went with the moment.'

'Seriously, you were great. Whatever you did, it worked. I'm gonna make damn sure we do it again – we can do even more next time, if you want,' Dean replies, winking.

The waitress returns with their food, and Dean grabs a bottle of maple syrup, smothering his plate in the contents. He glances at his work, satisfied, before shovelling a forkful of pancake and bacon into his mouth.

'God, _how_ can you eat that much?' Cas asks.

'You asked me that yesterday,' Dean replies, chewing loudly, 'And the answer's still the same: I don't know. I just love food, okay?'

'Do you work out a lot, or something?'

Dean snorts. 'Nope.'

'Then how are you not morbidly obese?'

'High metabolism?' he mumbles, syrup running down his chin.

 

Dean

Dean places a hand on Cas' shoulder as they leave the diner. 'Hey, can you go and pick up supplies for the journey? You know, like, snacks and stuff?' he asks, 'I'll pay you back. I'd go with you, but I gotta make a phone call.'

'What should I get?'

'I don't know. Something you think I'd eat, I guess.'

'So - anything, basically?' Cas teases.

'Shut up,' Dean says. He smiles, and shoves Cas' arm playfully. 'I'll be here, okay?'

'Okay.'

Dean takes his phone out of his pocket when Cas disappears inside the convenience store at the end of the block. He types out the number and pauses, staring at the digits on the screen until they blur. He's wanted to do this for years, but the thought of actually going through with it terrifies him - he's tried to lock this idea away every time it's come to mind, but now, he realises things have to change. Now that Cas has walked into his life, _Dean_ has to change. If there's a chance that something could come of this, that whatever it is between them could blossom into a relationship – and Dean's beginning to think it could, and that he'd like it to – he won't step with anything weighing him down. He knows that a healthy relationship could never happen if he allows the past to haunt him - he has to leave all of that behind, and he has to do it now.

He closes his eyes as he places the receiver to his ear, and each ring echoes sickeningly through his skull. He doesn't know how to feel when he hears Sam's voice at the other end.

'Hello?'

Dean lets out a long sigh. 'Hey, Sammy,' he replies weakly.

'Dean!' Sam exclaims, 'What's up? You in California yet?'

'No - Arizona, actually.'

'Oh,' Sam pauses, confused. 'Well, what's going on? Are you okay?'

'Yeah, I'm good,' Dean replies, voice beginning to crack. 'Weather's great, journey's great. I, uh - I met a guy, Sam. His name's Cas. You'd like him, he's really smart, just like you.'

'Okay. So is he, like, your boyfriend now?' Sam replies. His tone is teasing, but Dean can tell that his brother is genuinely pleased for him. He can practically picture Sam now, with his bright eyes and messy hair, a big, goofy grin stretching across his face.

'Yeah, maybe one day. I don't know. I'm starting to think I'd like him to be, though,' Dean replies. A lump rises in his throat. As much as he wants to stay like this, talking to Sam - about Cas, about the journey so far – God, _anything,_ he doesn't care – this isn't the reason he called. This isn't why his knees feel weak, why there's a thick, sickly feeling in his stomach, and why he's shaking in seventy degree heat. 'Listen, Sammy – is Dad there?'

'Yeah, he's about to leave for work. You want me to get him for you?'

'Please,' Dean replies.

'Okay, hang on. Call me again when you get to Los Angeles, Dean. Take care of yourself, all right?'

Dean smiles - he'll always be the big brother, caring and fiercely protective, but sometimes he forgets just how much Sam looks after him too. His little brother's sensibility and wisdom have always stretched far beyond his years.

'I will.'

After a few painfully long moments of static, Dean hears a rustle on the other end of the line, followed by John's voice. 'Hey, Dean. Sam says you're in Arizona. Is something wrong?'

'No, everything's fine. There's just something I gotta tell you, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I ever will. This is important, Dad – hear me out.'

'Okay,' John replies slowly. 'Go ahead.'

Everything becomes cloudy. Dean wipes his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, and when he speaks, his voice is thick.

'I, uh - I met someone. Someone who genuinely makes me feel good about myself, and God knows that's something I haven't felt in a _long_ time; someone who cares about me, who doesn't judge me, who doesn't care about how fucked up I am, who doesn't care where I've been, or what I've done - only what I am now. That someone just happens to be a guy, and I know you're gonna hate me for that, Dad. You always have done. We buried what happened last summer, you acted like nothing ever happened – but you and I both know deep down that we ain't gonna forget something like that, not ever. We're both gonna remember that day for the rest of our lives, and you know what? I hope it follows you until the day you die. I don't ever want you to forget what you did to your son, your own flesh and blood. You know what? I'm done trying to be what you always wanted, because I've realised that I'm never going to _be_ who you want me to be, Dad. I can't change who I am - but the thing is, I don't think I even _care_ any more. I feel like I'm finally starting to accept myself for who I am, and it feels _great._ _There's a ton of people out there who_ accept me - including Sam. You never realised, Dad, but he's always known. He was the first person I ever told, and he  _never_ judged me for it, not even for a second. I've realised something - that if you can't learn to accept me for who I am, then you're not going to be a part of my life any more.'

Dean hangs up before his father can say a word, and it takes every last ounce of strength he can gather to resist hurling his phone at the ground - instead, he slumps down on the curb, knees curled up against his chest. He doesn't know whether to feel relieved or distraught, and ends up trapped hopelessly somewhere in between.

He looks up when he sees Cas' feet in front of him. He's standing above Dean, backlit by the sun, low in the azure sky, and the glow frames him like a halo. 'Dean, what's wrong? Did something happen to you?'

Without a word, Dean stands up, takes Cas' face in his hands, and kisses him deeply. Cas tenses under his touch for a moment before letting the grocery bags in his hands drop to the ground, and his arms snake around Dean's waist. Dean holds him close, desperate for his touch, and this time he's the one who doesn't want to pull away; he wants to stay like this forever, enveloped in Cas' arms. The kiss is long and effortless - gentler, and with far more grace than those of the night before, but no less of the sincerity.

'Sure you're okay?' Cas asks as he pulls away.

'Yeah,' Dean replies. 'Trust me, Cas – I actually feel better than I have in a long time.'

He takes Cas' hand. 'Come on. Still got a long way to go.'

 

Castiel

The morning and early afternoon fly by. Dean drives a little too fast, and they soar down the highway with the windows down and music turned up. The day is warm, the sky cloudless, and Cas feels on top of the world. They reach the university at two forty-five, fifteen minutes before his interview.

The sun is scorching now, and Dean parks underneath the shade of a tree - he pulls the Impala up to the curb and turns to Cas as he switches off the engine. The leaves above scatter dappled sunlight on the windshield, illuminating Dean's freckles like stars, tracing a thousand constellations across his skin - Cas leans over and kisses him again, short and sweet, feeling the corners of Dean's mouth curl up into a smile as their lips touch.

'We made it,' Cas breathes as he pulls away.

'Hey, I promised we would, right?' Dean replies.

'You did. Thank you, Dean - for everything.'

'You don't need to thank me, Cas. We've found something here - I don't know what it is, but I like it. I know it's only been a day, everything's happened so fast; it's crazy, but I don't know, maybe that's just how it's supposed to be. Finding the right person, I mean.'

'Are you suggesting I'm the right person?' Cas asks, smiling.

'I don't know, I guess it's too early to say; but I feel like you could be – one day, maybe.'

'Well, I suppose you could say the feeling's mutual,' Cas replies.

'You know, there's something I was thinking about.'

'What's that?'

Dean pauses. 'Look, I bet you've already got a hotel booked for tonight; clearly you're one for planning ahead, but listen -' He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He seems to be searching for the right words. 'You'd be alone,' he begins, 'I don't like the thought of that. I mean, I have my own place now, and it's not too far away. It's okay if you wanna say no, I won't be offended or anything; but if you maybe wanted to stay the night, or a couple, even – we wouldn't be alone, Charlie's already there, but I'd really like it if you did, and -'

'Dean,' Cas replies, cutting him short. This is the first time Dean has looked genuinely flustered, and it makes him smile - it's sweet, really. 'It's fine, you don't have to convince me. I'd love to.'

A group of students pass by, their voices interrupting Cas and Dean's quiet, sun-dappled little universe together in the car, and nerves hit Cas all at once as he turns away from Dean and catches sight of the university buildings across the street.

'Oh God, we're here. This is it. Do I look presentable, at least?' he asks Dean, reaching out of the passenger window to check his reflection in the wing mirror. His hair's still a mess – no surprise there – he's wearing the same clothes he slept in, and his neck is smothered in dark purple marks, stretching in an uneven line from just below his chin all the way down to the collarbone. Half are bruises from New Mexico; the rest are Dean's work, a not-so-subtle souvenir from last night.

'I'm going into a college interview with hickeys on my neck,' he groans, 'What are they going to think when I walk in there?'

Dean chuckles. 'Cas, relax. I bet you're not the first, and you can't _really_ see them if you zip that sweater all the way up.'

Cas yanks the zipper as high as it'll go, turning to Dean for approval. Dean glances at him nervously, shrugging. 'Okay, maybe I was wrong – but seriously, Cas, do you _really_ think they're gonna care about how you look? You're so much more than that. Remember yesterday morning, when you gave me that speech about the universe, or last night, when you taught me the names of all those stars? You didn't even have to think about that stuff, you remembered all of it off the top of your head. Go in there and do that all over again. They're gonna see how smart you are, how much you want this - you're a genius, Cas, and they're morons if they can't see that.'

Cas smiles.

'Okay, Dean. I trust you. Wish me luck.'

'You won't need it, babe. You'll do great.'

Cas climbs out of the Impala, shielding his eyes from the sun; it beats down on his shoulders, and a warm breeze drifts over him. He considers the thousands of students who have been here before – the same worried thoughts rushing through their heads, the same sickly feeling in their stomachs, that same dreadful certainty they'll walk in to their interview and forget everything they know. Dean's words echo in his mind; _remember yesterday morning. Do that all over again._ He takes a deep breath -  he's ready. He closes the passenger door behind him, leaning down to face Dean.

'Pick me up in an hour?' he asks.

'I'll be here,' Dean replies.

Cas crosses the steet, stepping at once towards both the beginning and the end of his journey. He walks slowly but purposefully, head held high. He stops when he reaches the university's main gates, turning back to the Impala once more before it disappears from sight. Dean catches his eye and leans out of the window, slamming one hand on the horn.

'Knock 'em dead, Cas!' he yells, grinning.

A few heads turn, but Cas is too elated to feel even an ounce of embarrassment. He wants everyone to know Dean's cheering for him _._ Cas raises one arm, punching the air in reply – _'The Breakfast Club's still better!'_ he yells. Dean shakes his head and laughs in response.

Dean was right; Cas doesn't know exactly what this is between them either, and it really has happened _so_ fast. Stopping to think about it all for even a second would make his head spin - but at the same time, meeting Dean seems to have opened up a vast ocean of possibilities, and Cas is ready to dive right in. He laughs breathlessly, and exhilaration flows through his veins – he realises that _this_ is what it's like, to no longer simply _exist,_ but to truly _live._

In that moment, Cas is alive;

and he feels _amazing._


End file.
